Cafe Mozart

When I was living in and around Highgate, North London, the favourite lunchtime meeting place for me, my friends and my goddaughter, was the Cafe Mozart in Swain's Lane. I love the name, Swain's Lane. Makes you go back in time to the days when Parliament Hill and Highgate Hill were countryside and shepherds drove sheep along the main road to market, and swains canoodled with their milkmaid girlfriends beneath the trees and bushes. Cafe Mozart, or Mozart's as we always called it, is also a blast from the past as it's like an old Viennese coffee house complete with Austrain cakes and schnitzels and populated by greybeards who read the Morning Star in dark corners - or perhaps they are retired spies from the Russian Trade Delegation buildings further up the hill.

I met my old friends Jill and Pete and, having absorbed various bits of rather sad family news, we then proceeded to put the world to rights, including climate change and each other's love lives. It was great fun and I only wished I lived nearer so I could do it more often. It was tantalising to see Hampstead Heath just across the street and not have time for a wander. My friend Jill must be the only pensioner to go rollerblading on the Heath. Every time it's even vaguely sunny she is up there, whizzing around.

Ages ago I decided to write a poignant novel called Meet Me at Mozart's. I think it has a certain ring to it. I can see the movie. All I have to do now is write the damn book!